Shadows Fall
by Aedemiel
Summary: The Apocalypse has been derailed, Castiel is dead and the shock of his brutal murder has severed his bond with Dean, leaving him in a coma. Sam and Gabriel are struggling to figure out how to move forward and Zurvan and Lugh have their own plans. Meanwhile Lucifer is proceeding with his plan to take over Heaven. Part Four of The Shadows We Cast.
1. Chapter 1

Back in Gabriel's San Francisco condo, Sam stared out of the window. The rain was so heavy he could barely see the Golden Gate Bridge through the misty gray curtain. It seemed appropriate to his mood right now. The world had turned upside down and without Dean's steady support, Sam wasn't sure how he was supposed to keep going.

They'd put Dean in the bedroom, where he'd remained unmoving and only the soft sound of his breathing to tell anyone he was still alive. Sam wasn't sure it wasn't kinder than the raw pain of Dean's loss. But he needed his brother here with him, and a coma would surely only delay the inevitable grieving he would need to do. Sam refused to even contemplate the idea that Dean might never reawaken.

Behind him, he could hear Bobby and Gabriel were sat on the couch drinking steadily and conversing in low voices. He didn't care what they were talking about. What did any of it matter? Lucifer was going to take over Heaven and the world was just as fucked as it was before. He'd managed to dodge his own personal bullet of being Lucifer's vessel, but the outcome was hardly more palatable.

"You know, I think I might be drunk enough now," Bobby announced. "Can someone please run everything past me again? What the Hell just happened?"

"Lucifer tricked us," Sam said dully, not turning away from the view. "He and Lugh were conspiring together and they needed a distraction. We provided it."

"I still don't understand," Bobby admitted. "What did they even achieve?"

There was a knock at the door and Gabriel's head came up. "That will be our answer, I expect." He got up and opened the door to a nervous-looking Crowley with Balthazar stood behind him, his face a mask. Gabriel gestured them both inside and waved the whiskey bottle at them invitingly. Crowley nodded eagerly but Balthazar declined with a wave of his hand.

"Sit, please," Gabriel said. They exchanged a glance and then Crowley perched on the edge of the armchair. Balthazar remained standing, his back rigid and his eyes darting around anxiously.

"Well, this is a pretty tangle," Crowley said after a moment's silent contemplation of his drink.

"It's a monstrous clusterfuck," Balthazar said succinctly. His voice was neutral but his eyes flashed angrily. " _Darling."_ The emphasis on that word made it clear they'd been arguing over what had happened at Bobby's. Sam abandoned his mournful contemplation of the weather and focused on the new arrivals.

Gabriel spread his hands. "I know you're mad, Bal. Hell, we all are. But getting pissed isn't going to help us now."

"Perhaps if my erstwhile lover had let some hint drop about this super-secret plan, we wouldn't be in this mess," Balthazar spat.

"Be reasonable," Crowley said. "What would you have done if you'd known?"

"Warned Michael of course," Balthazar said, scandalized.

Crowley leveled a look at him. "Right. So now, I'd be a scorch mark on the ground, Sam and Gabriel would be locked up and awaiting trial and who the Hell knows what that crazy fucker would have done to Dean. Or you. Then there's Lucifer, neatly handed over to Michael with a bow on his head. Oh yes, that outcome would have been _so_ much better."

Balthazar looked stricken. "You would have made me choose between you?"

"No," Crowley said patiently. "But the plan was going ahead, with or without you. I told you enough to make sure you played along. I'm sorry I didn't tell you the whole plan. Would you believe me if I said I didn't actually know the details?"

"No," Balthazar said bitterly.

"What did you know?" Sam asked.

"Lugh came to see me, wanted my help in orchestrating a distraction while he snuck into Heaven. He told me he wanted to gank Michael. But he worked out the details of the plan with Lucifer, not me. Lucifer had already told me about his weird meeting with Michael and how he was reconsidering his strategy as a result. So I introduced them to each other, and let nature take its course, so to speak." Crowley paused to swallow some whiskey. "Despite what I said, I might have arranged things differently if I had known Lucifer's intentions. It was reckless and put all of us at risk. That's not really my style."

"That's true enough," Balthazar growled. It sounded like an insult and the way Crowley's eyes flared red for a moment told Sam the nuance wasn't lost on him.

"Enough," Gabriel said. "I'm not here to play agony aunt, so stow your crap, Bal." Balthazar bristled indignantly but said nothing. "We need to know what's happening in Heaven. Angel radio, as Sam calls it, is offline."

"That I can tell you, at least a bit," Crowley said. "My demons have been on the lookout for angels on the lam since this whole deal started. Dorian met with Samandriel a few hours ago. Nice kid, bit naive." He waggled his eyebrows expressively and Balthazar huffed his displeasure. Crowley tilted his head back. "You know you're the only angel for me." Balthazar looked away and folded his arms over his chest. It was a very defensive stance and Sam felt bad for him. He was hurting and Crowley was making out like it was just a big joke.

"Samandriel?" Gabriel said. "He was barely a fledgling when I left."

"Yeah, well, he's smart, that one," Crowley said. "Read the writing on the wall much earlier than many of his fellows."

"What does that mean?" Sam wondered.

"If you keep interrupting, I can't very easily tell the story, can I?" Crowley said. Sam glowered at him. "OK, so according to Samandriel, he was in the library when it all kicked off. Michael's office is apparently close by. He heard shouting and loud bangs and went to investigate. What he saw shocked him so much he fled, as fast as his wings could carry him, to earth." He paused and took a long swallow of whiskey.

"Don't keep us in suspense, boy," Bobby growled.

"Michael was having a tantrum, a serious one. He was yelling incoherently about Lucifer plotting against him and Raphael was there, trying to calm the whole situation down. But he suddenly announced that he had a location on Lucifer and the Winchester boys, that for some reason Lucifer was broadcasting not only his location but the identities of the people with him." Crowley frowned at this, tugging on his suit jacket and then looking up to meet Balthazar's eyes. "Lucifer must have been doing that deliberately because Samandriel had no idea Gabriel, you or I were there."

"So this was the distraction plot?" Sam clarified.

Crowley nodded. "Raphael flapped off to come and investigate, and we all know what happened there. Back in Heaven, Samandriel met an entity he didn't recognize, but I think her meatsuit will ring a bell. A woman in her forties, dark-haired and with violet eyes."

"Zurvan."

Crowley beamed at Sam. "On the nose. Yes, everyone's favorite homicidal time goddess had somehow made her way into Heaven. She didn't even bother to banter with Michael, just walked in there and stabbed him. Samandriel ran away at that point."

"But that's the explosion we heard," Gabriel said. "And yet she didn't kill him. I wonder if that was by accident or design."

"Did anyone see Lugh?" Sam asked.

"Samandriel didn't mention him," Crowley said. "He must have been there, to let Zurvan enter. But he must have had another goal in mind if he didn't go with her to attack Michael."

"Great," Sam said sarcastically. "Just what we need, Lugh running around Heaven unfettered." He cast a look at the assembled faces and sighed. "I'm going to check on Dean."

* * *

Lucifer walked slowly through the corridors of Heaven, the sea of panicked Host moving around him almost as if they were barely aware he was there. Not one of the angels seemed to recognize him, they were all too intent on streaming out of the Great Hall and heading who knew where. He should have attracted attention simply by walking against the flow, even if nobody knew who he was. That they all kept their heads down and simply moved around him told him things were bad.

Finally, he reached his destination and couldn't contain the almost human-like gasp of shock at the damage that had been caused to the massive ornate doors that had previously hung at the entrance. One door was little more than splinters. The other was broken in two and lay on the steps. Frowning, Lucifer picked his way through the pieces and was startled by the appearance of Bartholomew, who staggered forward and leaned against the doorframe.

"Brother," he said, inclining his head politely.

"You!" Bartholomew declared, pointing one shaking finger at him. "All of this destruction is your fault."

"Not this time," Lucifer said smoothly.

"Lying about it won't help your case," Bartholomew sneered.

"Spare me," Lucifer drawled. "Take me to Michael."

"Take yourself," Bartholomew spat, but his eyes were shadowed in fear. Lucifer peered at him and could see that the angel's Grace had taken a severe blow.

He frowned in puzzlement and grabbed Bartholomew's arm. "What happened to you?"

Bartholomew yanked himself away. "That's none of your concern," he said and then took off at a limping run before Lucifer could question him further. Disquieted now, Lucifer began to pay more attention to the stream of angels, which had thinned considerably since he'd entered the Hall. Bartholomew wasn't the only one sporting a significant wound in his Grace, many angels who moved past him were severely depleted and some had been rendered almost mortal. His lips thinned in concern, something was very wrong here.

He found Michael's office, or rather he found a smoking ruin where Michael's office had previously stood. There was no sign of his brother, or anyone else.

"Lucifer." A hand came down firmly on his shoulder and he spun around, teeth bared, to see the face of Naomi looking at him in surprise.

"Naomi," he snarled. "Where is Michael? Why is everyone running away like their ass is on fire?"

She pursed her lips disapprovingly at him. "Michael is… indisposed. You shouldn't be here."

"The Gates were reopened to me. That means either Michael lifted the geas that prevented my return or something happened to him that means he can no longer maintain the spell." Lucifer noticed her twitch as he said this. "I believe that is what the humans call a tell. So he's lost his power then?"

She dismissed him with an imperious gesture. "Why are you here? And what part did you have to play in this little melodrama?"

"Melodrama? You never did like emotion, did you Naomi?" Lucifer remembered. "I'm here to see Michael and negotiate the smooth transitioning of power."

She glared at him in outrage. "You, rule here? Never!"

"I did once, long ago. Have you forgotten?" Lucifer graced her with a smile that made her falter and back away.

"That was a long time ago," she said faintly. "When you were still loyal."

"I never stopped loving Dad," Lucifer said, wagging a finger in her face. "More than I can say for some of you sorry lot."

Her face closed, taking on a pinched expression. "I think you should leave before Michael finds out you're here."

"But I _want_ Michael to know I'm here," Lucifer said, his patience beginning to wear as thin as his vessel.

"I've told you, he's indisposed," she said with a toss of her head. Lucifer's hand shot out and he plunged elbow deep into her chest, finding the center of her Grace and ripped it out in one smooth movement, crushing it into darkness in his fist. She shrieked with terror and loss and then began to fall towards the floor. But when she reached it, she didn't stop. Instead she passed through it and vanished from sight.

"You know how much I dislike waste," Michael said. Lucifer turned his head to see his brother leaning against a door frame, his body thin and wasted and his face was gray.

"Brother," Lucifer exclaimed, feigning shock. "What happened to you?"

"Zurvan broke in here and stabbed me in the heart with the Shadow Blade," Michael said. "She poisoned my entire Grace with it. I had no idea it would act so rapidly."

Lucifer paused as he remembered their last encounter with the Blade, millennia ago. "As I recall, the Blade's danger scaled with the power of the angel. Cherub's die a slow lingering death over centuries, but archangels have a far more rapid decline. In fact, you should already be dead. Why are you still alive?"

"Like to see that would you? Me dead?" Michael took a wheezing breath and wrapped his arms around his body. "I've managed to stave off the inevitable for now."

Lucifer studied him, the mystery of his survival was bugging him somehow. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was. The memories of the angels with damaged Grace in the Hall struck him and a terrible suspicion began to form in his mind. "You said you dislike waste." The idea was too dreadful to contemplate and yet it was the only way Lucifer could think of to counter the taint of the Blade. His face must have reflected his thoughts as Michael gave him a half-smile.

"Figured it out, have you? Yes, I've been using the Grace of other members of the Host to sustain myself."

Lucifer stepped back, appalled. "You… cannibalized our brothers and sisters Grace?" This was it then, Michael had stepped off the cliff-edge into true madness and Lucifer was suddenly at a loss. He'd expected to come here to fight a weakened Michael and return to the Throne of Heaven in glorious victory. But this… He could fight Michael like this and he'd probably win. But conquest under these circumstances would be hollow indeed.

"They consented to donate," Michael corrected. His eyes were strange, one pupil larger than the other. Lucifer had heard of this effect in humans with concussion. What was causing Michael's vessel to behave this way he couldn't imagine.

"Why do I find that hard to believe?" Lucifer asked. The terror on his siblings face as they fled was too fresh, too stark to believe anyone was happily handing over their Grace to Michael. He was ripping it out of them, leaving the stark wounds he'd observed in Bartholomew and others.

"I asked, they said yes. What more is there to say? I started with the traitors in prison of course. Offered them release if they would provide me with what I needed." Michael's voice was casual, as if they were discussing something trivial, not the utter breakdown of God's Law.

"That's not consent, you bastard," Lucifer gasped. He had to try and get Michael to see how monstrous this was. Even if Lucifer did hold many of his fellow angels in contempt for their slow-wittedness, their inability to adapt and their complete lack of desire for any autonomy, they did not deserve to be reduced to cattle by a crazed leader.

"Oh, because you're the poster boy for informed consent now, are you?" Michael mocked. Michael never mocked, and he'd never had a sense of humor. Whatever this poisoning or the temporary cure he'd found was doing, he was beginning to lose himself.

Lucifer shook his head at him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Michael shrieked. "What's wrong with all of you?"

"All of me?" Lucifer blinked in confusion.

"All of my enemies. You, Castiel, the mole, the numerous treacherous angels the UAC found. Even my vessel refuses to behave in an appropriately grateful and respectful manner!" Michael winced in evident pain and gripped the doorjamb tightly. "Hael!"

Frantic footsteps revealed a very flustered Hael, her face lined with stress and fright. "M-m-michael," she stammered.

"I _need more,_ " Michael said through gritted teeth. His eyes were savage and too bright, like a fever.

"But…" Hael objected, her pretty face crumpling with distress.

" _MORE!_ "

Hael fled. Lucifer watched her as she ran away as fast as she could and then returned his attention to his brother. "Do you think she'll come back?"

Michael grimaced at him. "Probably not. Help me."

"What do you need?" Lucifer sighed. Definitely no fighting today it would seem. He was getting soft.

"Grace," Michael said, rolling his eyes. Lucifer's sense of wrongness only increased. Sarcasm now?

"Well you can't have mine," he said tartly.

Michael looked sick and shook his head. "I'd rather die than touch your tainted Grace. Find me someone."

"No," Lucifer said, shaking his head. The awfulness of what Michael was asking him to do made him want to vomit. He'd never experienced the sensation before and he wasn't enjoying it. "No way. You can't ask this of me."

"I just did," Michael said tightly. "Don't defy me, Lucifer. I'm warning you."

Lucifer shoved his brother backwards with a roar. Michael tumbled to the ground and glared up at him. "You dare to threaten me? I should kill you now."

"Do it then. Finish me off, if you can." Michael leaped to his feet with surprising nimbleness given his current disability.

Lucifer inhaled sharply and then lunged at Michael, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him back onto the floor. Michael bucked underneath him and his blade appeared in his hand. He brought it up in a sweeping motion and Lucifer blocked it before rolling away and springing back onto his feet. He grinned at Michael, the heat of battle was singing in his blood and any thoughts of trying to right the chaos were lost in the fever.

Michael darted forwards once more and Lucifer danced easily out of the way. But he'd gotten too cocky and the blade sliced into his left cheek. He snarled and lunged at Michael, thrusting them both backwards and crashing into one wall. As he leaned forward to snarl in Michael's face, his brother surprised him by craning his neck and licking at the cut on his cheek. He jerked his head back in disgust and Michael kicked him solidly in the stomach before following up with a glancing blow off his ribs that made Lucifer wince in pain. Angrily, he slammed Michael's head back against the brickwork and then swept his feet out from under him and watched as he collapsed to the floor in a heap. Pinning his brother down, he began to dangle his sword over Michael's face.

"Beg," he told him. "Beg for mercy. Beg me for your life."

"Never," Michael spat. He wriggled under Lucifer's body and managed to wrestle his sword-arm free, cutting deeply into the tendons behind his right knee. Lucifer roared in agony and fury and straightened, raising his blade high and intending to make the killing blow. To his dismay he felt another blade at his throat. He didn't need to see it's wielder to recognize Raphael's Grace as it hummed against his skin.

"Stand down," Raphael hissed in his ear. "Or I will finish this." Lucifer let his sword fall to the floor with a clang and dropped his head. Raphael grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him upright and pressed him face first against the wall.

"Raphael," Michael said as he clambered to his feet. "Your timing is impeccable as always."

"What should I do with him?"

"Chain him and put him in my quarters for now. The prison is on the verge of a riot already, we can't put him in there." Michael wiped his brow and slumped, almost falling back onto the ground. "Where is Hael?"

"Right here," she said in a thin, cold voice, dragging Amendiel with her. He struggled against her hold, but the Grace-binding shackles he wore limited his options.

"Amendiel," Michael said, his voice weak. "Come here. I need you to donate your Grace to me while I recover from this injury."

"No," Amendiel said, fear and revulsion painting his features white. "You can't ask this of me."

Hael cuffed him across the back of the head and then kicked the back of his knees. He fell to the floor with a cry. Michael shuffled over to him, his eyes febrile and bright and his blade raised. He sliced neatly into the soft flesh at the base of Amendiel's throat and then tilted his head back in ecstasy as he drew out his brother's Grace and swallowed it whole. The shackles fell to the ground with a clatter. Lucifer gasped as he realized what that meant. Michael had ripped out all of Amendiel's Grace and the shackles automatically detached as they were designed only to bind angels, not mortals.

"Michael," he whispered. "What have you done?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was twitching and moaning, his body shifting restlessly on the bed. Occasionally his eyes would flicker open momentarily, although Sam didn't think there was any awareness there. He reached out to Gabriel through their bond.

 _Something's going on with Dean. Can you come take a look?_

He heard the bedroom door open and then close with a click, and smiled as he felt the closeness of his mate.

"What's… oh, wow."

"I don't feel like wow is a good thing in this context," Sam said. He turned to look at Gabriel, who was staring at Dean in astonishment.

"No, not good. Not bad either, just… I don't know what's happening here, Sam." Gabriel sounded slightly panicky and Sam felt the first stirrings of alarm.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

Gabriel reached out and took his hand, his skin warm against Sam's. He felt his tension loosen just a little. "It might be better if I show you." Sam felt their bond quiver and then he blinked as he found he was looking at himself. He almost ripped his hand away but Gabriel gripped it tightly. "You're looking through my eyes," he said. "Try not to freak out."

Sam swallowed hard, because there was something odd about the way he looked in Gabriel's vision. He just couldn't figure out what it was. But it wasn't important right now, so he pushed that aside and concentrated as Gabriel turned his head to look at Dean. There was an ethereal bluish-white glow around Dean's body, mostly concentrated around his head.

"What _is_ that?" he said quietly, as though speaking too loud might break the spell.

"It's Grace," Gabriel said.

"I don't understand," Sam confessed.

"Neither do I," Gabriel agreed. He released Sam's hand and the curious effect faded, leaving Sam feeling slightly breathless. Gabriel opened the bedroom door and must have signalled to Balthazar because a moment later the blond angel joined them. As soon as he entered he made a large intake of breath. Gabriel took Sam's hand again and directed his gaze at Balthazar. Sam could see a similar bluish glow around him as he could see around Dean, but whereas Dean's was wispy and fog-like, Balthazar's was brighter and more steady.

"What's going on, Gabriel?" Balthazar demanded.

"I have no idea," the archangel admitted.

Sam pulled his hand free and sat down on the bed next to his brother. He lifted Dean's t-shirt to reveal the bonding mark. "Look at this."

Gabriel and Balthazar came over to see what he had found. "That's… impossible," Gabriel exclaimed. The mark, which had turned black with Cas's death had returned to its original silver-blue state.

"Could God have resurrected Cas?" Sam asked.

Gabriel's mouth twisted as he considered the idea. "He _could_ , of course, although nobody's seen Dad in forever. But if he had, Castiel would be here. He wouldn't be able to resist the call of his bonded mate's distress."

Sam's shoulders slumped in disappointment. "I just hoped…"

"I know," Gabriel said sympathetically. "But I don't think that's what's going on here. And honestly, it wouldn't really explain how Dean is glowing with Grace like-"

"Like an angel," Balthazar finished. "Albeit one that's down to their last reserves."

Sam bit his lip. "Can humans be uh… promoted?"

Gabriel shook his head. "I've never heard of such a thing. And technically, it would be a demotion."

Sam blinked at the incongruity of the concept. "What?"

"Humans are better than we are. You're a step up from angel, not down."

"Speak for yourself," Balthazar said sourly.

"OK," Sam said, holding up his hands to forestall an argument. "Is Dean in danger?"

"I don't think so," Gabriel said. "But we're in uncharted territory here, Sam. It's almost like he's Grace-touched."

"Grace-touched? That's a thing?" Sam said sharply. "Why didn't you mention that in the beginning."

"Because Grace-touched is a vessel thing," Gabriel said. "It's the residual Grace left over when an angel departs their vessel. But Dean has never hosted Michael."

"That we know of," Balthazar said helpfully.

"No," Gabriel said. "I'd have noticed, believe me. And once he bonded to Castiel, it would have been ejected even if I was wrong."

"Can't you tell whose Grace it is?" Sam asked. He was struck by a thought. "What if it's Cas's?"

Gabriel waggled his eyebrows at Sam. "Kinky. Possessing your bonded? Hmm, what an idea."

"Stop!" Balthazar cried out. "I don't want to hear it."

Gabriel laughed, the first time Sam had heard him do so in quite some time he realized. "No, I can't tell whose it is. Maybe you're right, if Castiel ever took Dean as a vessel-" His lips twitched but he managed to keep himself under control. "That would perhaps explain Dean's Grace-touched appearance. But why now? Why didn't we see it before?"

Sam had no answer to that. Balthazar shook his head, muttering darkly to himself. "So what now?"

Gabriel sighed, and Sam's stomach lurched with fear. Not his own, he realized to his horror, but Gabriel's. "I'm going to have to return to Heaven and do a bit of reconnaissance."

Balthazar stared at him for a moment. "All right. I'm going with you."

"Are you sure?" Gabriel said in surprise.

"This is as much my responsibility as yours," the blond said. He grimaced. "I must be losing my mind."

Sam looked down at Dean, whose eyelids continued to flicker, showing little slivers of the whites of his eyes.

"We'll have to take Dean to a hospital," Gabriel said. "I'm keeping him alive right now but if Balthazar and I leave, he'll need proper medical care. But it's going to be awfully hard to explain."

"Then I won't," Sam said. "I'll just say I found him like this. End of."

Gabriel exchanged a look with Balthazar. "OK. Let's do that first and then we'll go." He gave Balthazar a sidelong glance. "Are you going to tell Crowley where we're going?"

Balthazar gave a tight grin. "No. Let him suffer a little." Sam rolled his eyes but wasn't going to interfere.

Gabriel scooped Dean up in his arms and Sam grabbed his elbow. "I'll meet you at the Luxor Gate," he said to Balthazar.

Balthazar frowned. "Why that one?"

"It's not used much," Gabriel shrugged. "And the gaggle of tourists that throng the ancient city will provide some cover."

"Wait," Sam said as Gabriel tensed for flight. "I need to tell Bobby what's going on."

"I'll do it," Balthazar said. "Go."

* * *

Bobby could hear the murmuring voices in the bedroom and he couldn't imagine it was good news. The way Gabriel had stuck his head out and wordlessly beckoned Balthazar inside made him feel especially antsy. So when the blond angel came back out and announced that Sam and Gabriel were taking Dean to a hospital, he stood up in alarm.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Balthazar said. "Well, nothing more than usual. But Gabriel's having to monitor him constantly and keep him alive since we can't feed him and even if we could hook him up to a drip, none of us are doctors. Sam's worried about him so we decided it might be best if he could be somewhere where his vital signs could be monitored properly.

"OK," Bobby said. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I'm going to take you home," Balthazar said. "We've got something we need you to research. I'll explain on the way."

Crowley looked slightly put out. "What about me?"

Balthazar's gaze flickered over him. "I'll see you later." He took Bobby's arm and vanished.

Crowley cursed. His angel was still pissed at him it seemed. Oh well, he'd come around. He wondered how Lucifer was faring in Heaven.

* * *

Raphael eyed Lucifer with a jaundiced air as he hung on the cross Michael had erected in his quarters. The archangel's head hung downwards, and his breathing was labored. Of course, the fact he needed to breathe at all told Raphael that the Light-bringer was in bad shape.

"I see you changed your mind about using Lucifer's Grace," he said casually to Michael. He didn't feel casual, he was a warrior but that didn't mean he had much taste for torture. And regardless of Michael's motivations, that's what this amounted to.

Michael was laid out on a fancy looking chaise that Raphael thought was rather gaudy and not really in keeping with Michael's typically Spartan tastes. "No, I didn't."

"But his Grace is low," Raphael objected. "Where has it gone if you didn't consume it?"

Michael gave him a cracked smile that made him involuntarily back away. "I did consume it. Why would you think otherwise? If I feed sparingly and supplement with other lower class angels, I can survive like this almost indefinitely."

So, Michael had finally cracked then, unable to even keep track of his own whims and ideas. Raphael hadn't thought it possible to feel something as human as nausea but the idea of keeping their brother as a permanent slave to Michael's needs was the most repellent thing he'd ever heard. It must have shown on his face because Michael rolled his eyes at him.

"Don't tell me you're feeling sorry for Lucifer," he drawled. Raphael shivered at the strange note in his brother's voice. He'd never heard Michael sound like this. He was reminded of the humans when they consumed large quantities of alcohol. Lucifer gave out a small, pained gasp and lifted his head.

"I'd prefer it if you just killed me," he croaked.

"Oh no," Michael said, a slow lascivious smile spreading across his face. "We're just getting started. And what did I say about waste?" He stood up in a sinuous motion that was as un-Michael-like as it was strangely compelling. He sauntered over to Lucifer and grasped his chin. Raphael decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and got the Hell out of there as fast as his wings would carry him.

* * *

Sam was standing on a hill, looking out over an enormous forest, so large it seemed to go on forever. He turned to his right to see Cas standing next to him, a slight smile on his face. He knew the angel shouldn't be here but he couldn't remember why.

"It's a nice view," Sam said carefully. "But why are we here?"

"The location isn't important," Cas said. "I like it here."

"OK," Sam said. "Let me rephrase. Why am I here?"

Cas slung an arm across his shoulders in a way that reminded Sam of Dean. He was too tall for his brother to do that to him these days, but when they were kids it was a way for Dean to express his affection without seeming too obvious about it. Cas was even shorter than Dean, so how he was able to do it comfortably didn't make much sense but he found himself reluctant to question it.

"How is Dean?" Cas asked, his voice wistful.

Sam blinked as memories suddenly unfurled inside his mind. "Not good. He's taking your death hard."

Cas nodded as if this was the answer he expected. "I know. I'm sorry."

Sam made a sound that was half laugh and half sob. "I don't really see how it's your fault."

"Perhaps," Cas said cryptically. "That's not why we're here, I just… wanted to know if he was OK."

"He's in a coma," Sam told the angel. "We've taken him to hospital. We didn't know what else to do."

Cas nodded, his face thoughtful. "That's good. Things have taken a turn for the worse in Heaven."

"Oh," Sam said. The truth was, it was hard for him to care. Heaven's machinations had robbed him of his brother and his friend. Although he hadn't objected when Gabriel had announced his intention to sneak in and find out what was happening, he was terrified he'd never see his bonded again. Separation anxiety was a constant, pulsing sensation in his throat, and the mark on his neck throbbed and burned.

Cas was regarding him gravely. "You're going to have to be brave, Sam," he said. "The next few weeks are going to be very hard for you."

"Great," Sam said sarcastically. "I've had such an easy ride so far I guess it was coming."

Cas was still looking at him, that solemn expression making Sam want to weep. "You may be forced to choose between Lucifer and Gabriel."

Sam gave him a disbelieving look. "That's not a hard choice."

Cas simply smiled at him. And the dream dissolved.

* * *

Sam started awake and almost fell out of the uncomfortable chair he'd fallen asleep in. A nurse was changing the bag on Dean's drip and she turned and gave him a kindly smile. She reminded him of Missouri. Her nametag said Gemma.

"You should go get something to eat," she said. "And maybe go home, get a few hours proper sleep in an actual bed."

"I can't," Sam said.

Gemma gave him a sympathetic smile. "They all say that. But it will help, at least until we get some answers on your brother's condition."

"I don't disbelieve you," Sam said. "But I'm afraid if I leave, something bad will happen."

Gemma sighed. "I get it, I do. Look, I'll see if I can at least get you a better chair, OK. Go get some coffee and a sandwich from the cafeteria and I'll see what I can do. Deal?"

Knowing when he was beaten, Sam nodded. "You win." He got up and slouched towards the door. "Call me if there's a change."

"Of course," Gemma said.

He made his way down to the cafeteria, not really hungry but he'd made a promise and the distraction might be helpful. Too many things to worry about. He selected a sandwich in a plastic box and grabbed a few bags of chips, an apple and two cans of soda. He ordered coffee at the small coffee bar and paid for the items with the last few bills in his wallet. He frowned, with everything else that had been happening, he and Dean hadn't had time for their usual money-making schemes and now he was running dangerously low.

His phone buzzed and he looked at it to see a text from Bobby.

 _Call me. Bobby._

He accepted the few coins of his change and headed out the door to the parking lot so he could make a call without being overheard. He made his way over to the Impala when he noticed a few smokers hanging about, and got in, dialing Bobby's number as he closed the door.

"Hey Bobby," he said as soon as the old hunter picked up.

"Sam," Bobby said. "Thanks for calling me back so quickly."

"What's up?"

"Balthazar asked me to look into something called the Shadow Blade. It's a wicked artifact and according to him, Zurvan was imprisoned in it until she was released. Now she carries it as a weapon and he and Gabriel think she might have used it against Michael. Gabriel says it poisons Grace and the lore says that the more powerful an angel is, the faster it works. But to kill the Blade has to hit the angel's center of Grace, which is roughly where we humans keep our hearts."

"OK," Sam said, wishing he had a notebook to write this down.

"So here's what I found. Seventh century monastery in northern France was charged with protecting this knife. It was there until World War 2, when Hitler invaded and many historical artifacts were looted. Luckily for us, the monastery survived the war and they recently digitized their entire library. I found a monk named Vitor and he was studying this blade, apparently with the help of an angel."

"Does he name the angel?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly. Calls him the Healer."

"I have no idea who that could be," Sam admitted. "OK, so Zurvan stabbed Michael, but he didn't die. How did he survive? I can't imagine she missed the heart, that was the whole point of the mission."

"Well, we don't know for sure. But assuming she didn't miss, according to Vitor, the only way to endure is to constantly replenish the poisoned Grace," Bobby said.

"We don't know the first thing about how angels recharge," Sam said in frustration. He wished he'd asked Gabriel about it, or Cas… back when he was alive. He choked, grief spiking him with its claws.

"I know. But presumably Michael has figured it out. It can't be all that easy, otherwise he'd have come down and smited us all, but he's surviving at least."

"Is there anyway we could know if he'd died?" Sam asked.

"Well, Lucifer would be top dog in Heaven for sure," Bobby said. "I can't believe that wouldn't be rather obvious."

"How long will it be before Michael fully recovers?"

"Hard to say," Bobby told him. "None of Vitor's writings indicated whether replenishing the Grace actually cures the poisoning or just delays the inevitable. Well, if Gabriel or Balthazar get in touch, pass on what I've told you. I'm going dark while I relocate. This place is too well known about now. I'll call you in a couple days."

"OK," Sam said. "Be careful." He hung up and sighed, wiping one hand over his face. There was a tap on the window and his head came up in surprise. The violet eyes that smiled at him weren't unfamiliar.

He opened the door and got out, closing the door behind him with his foot, his arms folded but tension coiled inside him like a spring. "Zurvan."

"Hello, Sam," she said, smiling at him and looking him up and down slowly. "I've been busy."

"So I've heard," Sam said. He looked around for Lugh, who surely couldn't be far behind.

"Lugh's still in Heaven," Zurvan said, amused. "He's not going to sneak up on us."

"So what do you want?"

"To thank you," she twinkled. "I got my revenge and it was sweeter than I had dreamed. Michael will die soon but not before he destroys everything and everyone he loves." She sashayed forward until she had Sam pinned against the side of the car and gave him a sultry, inviting look. Sam felt utterly repelled.

"Great," he snarled. "Meanwhile I have a brother in a coma, my friend is dead and my bonded mate is putting his life in danger trying to stop creation from collapsing. But it's OK, because you got what you wanted."

Zurvan pursed her lips at him in irritation. "That's not right. What happened?"

"Don't you know?" Sam said tauntingly. "Aren't you this all-powerful master of Time?" Provoking a being as powerful as she was probably wasn't smart, but Sam's patience had worn thin and it was making him reckless.

"I'm not omnipotent," she said sternly. "But I _like_ Dean, he's way more fun than most humans." She arched a brow at him. "Including you. You have to believe me when I tell you that I don't want him hurt. Tell me what happened."

"Cas is dead. Michael somehow managed to arrange to have him killed but without breaking the Canaanite Accords himself. Dean and Cas had bonded, the shock of his death snapped the bond and injured Dean's soul. Michael added his interference into the mix and I guess Dean's brain just quit at that point."

Zurvan's eyes were wide and she was shaking her head. "Castiel is dead? No, no, he can't be, Sam!"

"He is. I'm sorry if that wrecks your little plan." Sam knew he sounded bitter and angry, and maybe she'd smite him into next week for it, but he was struggling to care.

"I can fix this," she said, grabbing the lapels of his jacket. She seemed desperate and Sam narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion.

"Why do you care so much?" he demanded.

"I need Dean to decide to stay in this timeline," she confessed. "Whenever I work a major chronomantic readjustment, it wants to snap back. You can make it stick but to do that, the pivot has to commit to the new version of history. Dean is a pivot. If he can't fight it when the timeline tries to revert, then I'm powerless and I lose my revenge."

Sam's head was hurting. He'd forgotten all about Dean's time-traveling shenanigans in amongst everything that had happened. "OK. So how do we fix it? Even if we can get him to wake up, in this timeline Cas is dead. His bonded mate. If there's another timeline out there where Cas is alive, he's not gonna want to stay in this one."

Zurvan was chewing on her lip in thought. "He's not the only pivot on the board right now."

Sam blinked at her. "Who else is there?"

"You," she said, smiling at him.

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "You can't expect me to keep my brother in a timeline he hates."

"No, silly," she admonished, wagging a finger at him. "That's not how this works. Dean is the pivot for the events that have occurred. But you're a pivot for different events."

"I don't understand," Sam told her.

She twisted her face. "Let's just say that if I were to send you back in time to save Castiel, the timeline would start focusing on you, not Dean. And once we restore Castiel, Dean will fight when his timeline starts to waver."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam grumbled. "And I don't exactly have much reason to trust you."

"I know," she said. "Think about it. We have a little time-" she laughed. "But hurry." Between one blink and the next she was gone and Sam was alone.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a long time since Gabriel had been in Heaven. It had changed, which was odd because Heaven never changed. Balthazar stalked behind him, silent and Gabriel could feel waves of rage swelling from his brother and crashing against his Grace.

Where once there had been a beautiful city, with soaring spires and elegant arches, was mostly rubble. The dreamscapes that had once housed the souls of the dead were gone, obliterated as if they'd never existed, replaced by row after row of white, clinical hallways, lined with cell doors. Every soul they passed seemed withered and weak, reaching out to Gabriel and Balthazar in supplication as they passed.

"What happened here?" Gabriel said in a hushed voice. The place felt like a battlefield, once all the living had left and only the dead remained.

"I don't know," Balthazar said tightly. "It wasn't like this when I left."

They kept going, finally reaching what remained of the Great Hall. The doors had been blasted off their hinges and the south wall had crumbled. Entering the vestibule, they saw the first angel they'd seen since they'd returned to Heaven. She was kneeling on the floor tending to another angel who was lying prone and unmoving.

"Hael," Gabriel said as he recognized her Grace.

Her head came up and whipped around in shock. "Gabriel?" She stood up and stared at him, her face drawn and pale. Gabriel had never seen her so unhappy.

"Yeah, it's me. What happened here?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. Gabriel recognized the angel on the floor as Bartholomew. His Grace was a barely detectable flicker, he likely only had minutes to live.

"Hael," he said more forcefully. "What in Father's name is going on? Is Bartholomew dying? Why can't you heal him?"

She tossed her head, a glint in her eye that Gabriel had never seen before. Hael was a sweet, sensitive angel, to see her angry was almost unheard of.

"You don't have the right to ask me questions," she said. "You gave up that right long ago. You left."

"I'd like to think _I_ still have the right," Balthazar said, fixing her with an intimidating look.

Hael faltered. "Michael's sick."

"Define sick," Gabriel grated. "We don't _get_ sick."

"That filthy bitch came here and stabbed him with the Shadow Blade," Hael snarled. "His Grace was poisoned." She looked down at Bartholomew. "He had to replace it constantly or he would have died."

Gabriel felt dizzy, a curious feeling for an archangel. "If his Grace was poisoned, how did he achieve that?"

"We donated of course," Hael said, her voice quavering. Gabriel looked down at Bartholomew, examining the wound in his Grace and his breath caught. He looked up at Balthazar, whose eyes were shadowed with despair but not shock.

"Voluntarily? Or just taken?" Balthazar said.

She sniffed and looked away. "Why would you ask me a question like that?"

"Because when I left for Earth, Michael's sanity was already beginning to fray. You know this as well as I do. You served on that blasted committee, committing angels to horrifying punishments for tiny infractions and imagined slights. Scores of us were executed on little more than the word of a brother or sister that they were involved in seditious acts. So don't pretend to me that Michael was firing on all cylinders and suddenly went berserk, Hael! It's a damned lie!" Balthazar was breathing heavily, his anger pulsing red in his Grace. Gabriel laid a hand on his arm and deliberately pushed calming feelings at him until his temper cooled.

Bartholomew croaked something and Gabriel kneeled down by his side, ignoring Hael's protests.

"Gabriel," Bartholomew said weakly. "Get the fuck out of here." Gabriel blinked, Bartholomew wasn't much given to salty language as a rule. "Michael has Lucifer and is using his Grace to survive the poison. If he has you too, he can recover completely. But his sanity won't return. And then we'll be doomed." He gasped out one final word. "Darkness." And then his eyes closed and Gabriel felt him pass over. Grief struck him and he folded Bartholomew hands over his chest. He'd never liked him, but he didn't deserve to die like this.

"I need to see Michael, now," he said to Hael, ignoring Bartholomew's warning.

"I'll take you to him," she said, rising and smoothing her skirts. Gabriel noticed that her Grace was fully intact.

"You didn't choose to 'donate'?" he said.

"Michael needs me to be fully functional," she said thinly. Gabriel didn't know whether to believe her or not.

She swept out of the vestibule and led them through the blasted remains of the assembly hall to the offices and personal quarters that radiated out like spokes on a wheel. There was clear evidence of fighting in these halls, with several angel blades scattered on the floor like fallen leaves and one even embedded in a wall. Several scorch marks on the floor of angel wings made Gabriel's chest hurt. Balthazar made a wordless sound of distress behind him.

"This is Michael's quarters," Gabriel said as they approached.

"His office was destroyed," Hael said, offhand. She knocked on the door and then opened it, gesturing them inside. Balthazar exchanged an unhappy look with Gabriel and then followed his brother inside.

Gabriel's sharp inhalation of breath echoed strangely in the room as he laid eyes on Lucifer, crucified in his own brother's rooms. He was naked, and blood smeared across his neck, his torso and vilest of all, between his thighs. The hideous cruelty of it, the senselessness of it was almost too large to comprehend. Michael was lounging on some ghastly golden throne, which was completely out of place in the otherwise spartan room. And there was something different about him. Gabriel didn't recognize the vessel he was inhabiting but he was comfortable in it in a way he'd never seen before. Michael usually lurched around in his vessels like a kid wearing clothes that were too large. Raphael was perched on a tiny stool, designed it seemed to keep the archangel looking upwards at Michael. Gabriel's lip curled in contempt.

"Gabriel," Michael said without opening his eyes. "I should have known you'd show your face sooner or later. Lucifer said you were back. I didn't believe him at first but it seems even an archangel has his limits of what he can tolerate."

"My lord-" Raphael said.

"Silence, Raphael," Michael said, making a slashing gesture. His eyes snapped open and Gabriel gasped at the crazed look in his eyes. And to render Raphael a helpless puppet? He could barely believe what he was seeing. "What is it that you want, Gabriel?" His eyes glittered with a hunger that Gabriel couldn't understand.

"What happened to you?" he breathed. "Hael said you were stabbed with the Shadow Blade?"

"Yes," Michael said. "It poisoned my Grace, I've had to improvise."

"I don't see any trace of poison on you now," Gabriel said nervously.

"Of course not," Michael said. "I'm constantly flushing myself with fresh Grace donated by the Host."

"Yes, we heard about these donations from Hael," Balthazar said, shaking his head in disapproval. "If Father could see you now."

"Our Father abandoned us," Michael snarled. "I've done the best I could to be a good son."

"Explain to me how being a good son involves this?" Gabriel said, gesturing at Lucifer.

Michael rolled to his feet in a smooth movement that looked entirely unnatural. He almost danced towards Lucifer, his eyes alight. Using two fingers he tipped his brother's head up so that Gabriel could see Lucifer's ravaged face.

"Would you like to taste him, Gabriel?" Michael asked sweetly.

"What? No!" Gabriel covered his mouth with his hand.

"I used to think like you," Michael said carelessly. "Until I tried it for myself. It's a high like you can't imagine, Gabriel. You always were the one trying to encourage us to explore the sensuous side of life, were you not?" He yanked Lucifer's head back further, causing him to wince, and his blade slithered into his hand. He traced it up Lucifer's neck, twirling it and sliding it around. Lucifer twitched and twisted as he did this, fear radiating from him so palpably it seemed to thud in Gabriel's head.

"Please, Michael," he begged. "Stop this. This is madness."

"Madness, is it?" Michael said, not turning around. He put the blade away and then leaned forward and kissed Lucifer, a forceful, full-mouthed kiss that was meant as assault not affection. "Your worthless opinions are not welcome here, Gabriel. You abandoned your siblings, discarded your responsibilities and renounced us all. You can't come crawling back to me now, all the while jonesing for a fix."

"A fix?" Gabriel said in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You think I don't know?" Michael said, whirling around. "About your perversion? How you wrenched Lucifer's vessel away from him, and feed him your blood, overriding his will and his good sense?"

"I did no such thing," Gabriel denied. "Sam was already running from Lucifer when he came to me. We love each other. Is that really so hard to understand?"

"Love," Michael spat. "Just like Castiel and _my_ vessel? Well, I solved that problem, didn't I? And now I'll solve Lucifer's too."

Gabriel stepped back in alarm, his blade sliding automatically into his hand. He heard Balthazar curse and then felt him come to stand back to back with him. This was it then? They were going to fight some almost unwinnable battle against his crazed brother and whatever angels had decided that sycophancy to the madness was preferable to honoring their Father's will. His chin tilted up in defiance, even as he felt a pang of regret for the anguish his death would inflict on Sam. He hoped his extra precautions would protect him from sharing Dean's fate.

Michael slithered forward, his blade in hand and his eyes fever-bright and hungry. Hael moved in the edge of Gabriel's vision towards Raphael. He had no idea what she was going to do but he couldn't worry about it now. Balthazar would have to take care of it.

Michael moved up to Gabriel until the point of his blade was pressed against Michael's chest. Gabriel stared up at him in confusion and fear. What was he doing?

"Do it," Michael said, a cracked smile on his face. "Slide your blade between my ribs and end me. I know you want to. I can feel it." He took one hand and pushed Gabriel's blade lower, until it was level with his groin. "Or fuck me with it. Push it inside me like a lover, thrust it into me over and over again."

Gabriel couldn't move, terror was holding him rigidly in place. Or perhaps it was Michael's power. Balthazar whispered over his shoulder and he sounded scared.

"Gabriel, what's going on? I'm paralyzed."

"Can't do it?" Michael said sweetly, a gentle smile on his face. "Or do you prefer to be the one penetrated?" Gabriel's blade fell from his nerveless grasp with a clatter and Michael brought his own sword up and slid it up the inside of Gabriel's leg, shivering with pleasure at the dread on Gabriel's face. "Would you like that, Gabriel? I've heard all about the kinky things you've done over the years. Why, this is positively pedestrian by all accounts."

"Please," Gabriel begged. "Please don't do this. Look at yourself, Michael. Look at what you've become. A vampire on the Heavenly Host. A sadist deriving pleasure from torturing your own brothers? How is it possible for you to have fallen so far?"

Michael gave him another smile, one so unlike any Gabriel had ever seen on his face he had to draw breath, because despite that he recognized it anyway. But not on his brother.

"How?" he breathed.

"Call it a meeting of minds," Michael said, bringing his blade up to his face and licking along the tip in an obscene manner that made Gabriel want to vomit. "Let me show you. Maybe then you'll understand." He reached out and clamped a hand on Gabriel's head, and his vision grayed out.

* * *

"This has gone far enough!" Michael shouted, and Raphael flexed his wings in outrage.

"Michael, I've done everything you've asked. It is hardly my fault that there was so much dissent in Heaven. Some might even say it's a lack of leadership-" Raphael's head snapped back as Michael punched him in the face. His lips curled into a snarl. "You're still in charge here, but don't push your luck."

"We still don't know who the mole is!" Michael screeched.

"Actually, I do know who it was," Raphael corrected. "But you're not going to like it."

"Don't play coy with me, Raphael," Michael sneered. "Tell me now!"

"It was me."

Michael gaped at him, barely able to comprehend what was happening? Traitors everywhere, and Raphael was now confessing to being an inside man for Hell? "What? Why?"

"Things were moving too slowly," Raphael said easily. "You were _talking_ about moving forward with the Apocalypse but not _doing_ that much. I was the one who was working to make sure the vessels were born. I was the one constantly having to walk around on earth, in amongst the humans, to make sure everything was in place. And you just waved a hand and said, take care of it. I am a warrior! And you turned me into a spy. I hated you for it. But at least I could be sure that things would be done properly."

"You broke faith with Heaven over a fit of pique?" Michael said incredulously.

"Of course not. But I could see your obsession with Lucifer was becoming unhealthy. We needed to end it. But you refused to engage. I thought a little encouragement might help."

"The photo," Michael said flatly. "The one of Dean and Castiel."

Raphael smiled. "The photo. An enterprising demon brought it to me, thinking she could blackmail me with it. I ripped out her spine and took the picture for myself."

"How dare you manipulate me like this!" Michael screamed. "I am the ruler of Heaven in my Father's stead!"

"Then rule, damn you!" Raphael urged. "The Apocalypse has swerved dangerously out of control. But we can still get back on track. Give up these poisonous dreams of bringing Lucifer back to the fold. It cannot be done."

Michael blinked as he heard his name being mentioned, down on earth. Humans had adopted the name for themselves, and it was not uncommon so he'd learned to filter most of the chatter out. But this was Lucifer speaking his name. He tuned Raphael out and focused on Lucifer's voice. Within moments he'd gathered that Lucifer was in the presence of his vessel, and his long-lost brother Gabriel.

"I know where Lucifer is," Michael said, grabbing Raphael by the lapels. Raphael shoved him off with a snarl.

"Where?"

"The junkyard owned by Bobby Singer in South Dakota," Michael said.

"I'm on my way," Raphael said and vanished. There was a strange sound in the hallway, like a suppressed gasp and Michael frowned. Was someone eavesdropping on him? And then she walked around the corner.

Michael just stared at her. The human vessel she was inhabiting was striking but immaterial. But Zurvan herself, whose power he'd locked up so long ago in the body of the Shadow Blade was here in Heaven. How was this possible?

"You can't be here!" he exclaimed.

She smiled at him and lunged, the blade sliding between his ribs like they were gossamer. He felt the black poison of the wicked thing pour into the center of his Grace. She laughed her triumph at him, and he groaned as he felt the tendrils of evil begin to spread throughout his being. He staggered and collapsed to the floor, unable to move as she gracefully danced from the room. He gasped, feeling the pain and wrenching torment of his Grace withering and dying. This was worse than dying at the hands of an archangel's blade. At least that was quick. This was slow and torturous.

"Well, well. The little minx actually managed it. I didn't really think she could," a light Irish tenor said. A pair of legs appeared in his vision, and then his visitor sat down cross-legged. Michael gazed up into emerald eyes and red hair that seemed to glow. "And now you're dying. Look at that."

The words were clearly meant to be mocking, but the strange entity did not look happy. Michael blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to understand who this peculiar creature was. He had no business in Heaven, that was for sure.

"Have you ever tasted Grace?" the Irishman continued. "It's really exquisite. Difficult to obtain of course, for one such as I. But for you… Oh you could drink your fill of it day and night." He shuddered with pleasure.

"Why…" Michael gasped. "Why would I want to…"

"To save your life of course," the redhead replied. "You do want to live, don't you? I mean if you're happy to die, I can just leave you in peace."

"No," Michael said. "Stay. Explain yourself."

"Well, your Grace is poisoned, as you know. But if you can replace it with good, clean Grace, you can flush the poison out of your system. It takes quite a bit of Grace to do this for an archangel, boy do you guys have a lot of juice. But there are too many angels in Heaven anyway."

"Are you… suggesting… I drink… from my brothers… and sisters?" Michael managed, his breathing becoming more labored. Why was he breathing at all, he wondered, and assumed it must be part of his Fall.

"Yes." The being looked at him sympathetically.

"Who are you?" Michael demanded.

"My name is Lugh."

"A Tuatha de Danaan? In Heaven? How did you get in here?" Outrage seemed to be giving him energy. He'd probably pay for it later, but he needed to understand.

"Castiel gave me the Map of the Heavens," Lugh said. "Of course, he didn't tell me how much it was going to cost. Now I have to figure out how to fix what the map broke. So where is he?"

"Castiel is dead," Michael said, a strange, crazy laugh bubbling up inside him. Oh this was too ridiculous really. Here he was, dying from the blow not only of the Shadow Blade, but the revenge of an entity he'd once imprisoned. And here was her accomplice, for there was no way Zurvan could get into Heaven without help, trying to double cross her.

"So I heard," Lugh said. "It matters not. What does matter is that you and I, together, can fix this."

"Go on."

"Merge your Grace with my Craft and I can stabilize you, keep you alive. It will buy you time until we can feed you the Grace you need to detoxify your system." Lugh gave him a crooked smile. "And you get a hot body in the process. Not this ragged thing." He waved a hand dismissively at Michael's vessel.

"You're offering yourself up as a vessel?" Michael whispered. "It's never been done before."

"Plenty of things haven't been done before," Lugh said. "Having you inside me will break the hold the Map of the Heavens has placed on my… essence, my nature if you like. It's a win-win."

"OK," Michael said. He was desperate, he knew it and this Lugh character knew it. Who knew what the consequences would be, but he didn't care. He was the one Father trusted, it was his responsibility to make sure the prophecies were fulfilled. "Will you consent to be my vessel, Lugh of Eireann?"

Lugh smiled at him, the first really genuine smile he'd seen him make. "Oh, Michael," he breathed. "Yes."

* * *

Gabriel collapsed to his knees as his awareness slammed back into his own vessel and he felt Balthazar sag with him. Apparently they'd both been treated to that little flashback.

"I should have recognized you from the start," Gabriel said. "Lugh and I are old dancing buddies."

"Well, context is everything," Michael said lightly. "You only saw what you expected to see, and I am still recovering."

"So who am I actually talking to?" Gabriel wondered. "Are you Lugh or Michael?"

Michael threw back his head and laughed, an entirely un-Michael-like sound. "Honestly, it's hard to know anymore. Do you know where you end and Loki begins?"

"That's different," Gabriel huffed. "Loki and I have been together for centuries. There's bound to be a bit of blurring after all that time. But we could still separate, at least in theory."

"So can we," Michael said dismissively. "If we wanted to. But to answer your question, I am… mostly Michael right now. Do you want to speak to Lugh?"

"Yes," Gabriel said. "Absolutely I do."

Michael shifted, almost imperceptibly but it was clear that Gabriel was no longer looking at his brother.

"Gabriel," the Irish brogue was a dead giveaway even if he hadn't already been sure. "How about this for a turn-up? You threw me to the Wild Hunt, and I get my revenge by taking over Heaven with your brother. It's too perfect, don't you think?"

"Fuck you, Lugh," Gabriel said. "Are you really this fucking childish?"

"Childish, is it?" Lugh said. "I cannot move for betrayals, even Zurvan has let me down. She conspired with Castiel to trick me into accepting the Map of the Heavens, but have I turned the tables on her now!"

"You're mad," Gabriel said. "Both of you. How the Hell did you convince him to start drinking the Grace of other angels once the poison was gone?"

Lugh gave him a slow, sultry smile and leaned forward, his mouth level with Gabriel's ear. "Because it's better than sex, baby." He licked a long line up Gabriel's neck and Gabriel quivered with disgust. "He's hooked. And so am I."

"You're revolting," Gabriel said, his voice dripping with scorn. "Is this it? Your big plan to take over Heaven? What now? What are you going to do with all this power? Just get stoned and-" He shuddered. "Other entertainments?"

"Why not?" Lugh said, stretching languidly. "Raphael won't fight me, because he knows he'd be next on the rack. And pretty little Hael here has a secret it turns out, a cute little human she's been romancing on the side. It _would_ be a pity if her internal organs suddenly ended up outside her body."

 _We are so fucked,_ Gabriel thought. _I'm sorry, Sam. I don't know how we're going to survive._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Apologies for the long wait for an update. An number of life things intervened, including some health issues which I'm only now getting on top of again. Updates should be more regular from here on out. Thanks to everyone who has kudos'd, followed, favorited and commented. You guys are the best.**

* * *

" _I don't know how we're going to survive."_

Sam jerked out of the half-doze he'd fallen into on the large comfortable reclining chair Gemma had brought him. His eyes flew to Dean's face, hoping against hope that it was his brother who'd spoken. But after a moment to reorganize his thinking, he realized the voice had come from the bond. Gabriel. Oh, shit, Gabriel was in trouble and there was nothing he could do!

He could feel pain and distress echoing through the bond and the anguish of being powerless to do anything was almost unbearable. He gasped, his chest tight and tears fell from his eyes. A hand landed on his shoulder and gripped it in sympathy. He looked up into the sorrowful eyes of Crowley.

He jerked away from the demon in shock. "What's going on?"

"I don't know for sure," Crowley said heavily. "Balthazar and I aren't bonded. But we can communicate a bit, mostly feelings and pictures rather than anything coherent. Things are bad, Sam."

"How bad?" Sam gasped, the knot in his chest getting tighter.

"Michael's insane and he's drinking the Grace of other angels to survive, as far as I can tell," Crowley said with distaste. "Balthazar and Gabriel are his prisoners and I expect he's considering them an all-you-can-eat buffet right about now."

"How can you joke at a time like this?" Sam demanded, agony seeming to punch a hole in his throat.

"It's a defense mechanism," the demon admitted. "I'm in love with that half-witted angel, more's the pity. And he's going to die and there's nothing I can do."

"What am I supposed to do about it?" Sam grated.

"Well, you're not going to like it," Crowley admitted. "But I hear Zurvan made you an offer, a few days ago. To go back and fix this?"

"Yes," Sam snarled. "How the Hell did you know about that?"

"Because I told him." Zurvan's voice floated into the room.

Sam looked up and she graced him with a sympathetic smile. "I know it hurts, Sam. Michael is draining Gabriel of Grace as we speak and the trauma is echoing down the bond. He's trying to shield you but he's getting weaker and soon he won't be able to do it any more."

"And then he dies?" Sam croaked.

"And then he dies. And then Balthazar dies, and Michael continues to consume all of Heaven. Once it's all gone, I don't know what he'll do. This is not what I had in mind."

"What went wrong? I thought you were happy with this outcome." Sam said bitterly.

"Lugh," she said with a twist of her mouth. She shook her head. "Castiel miscalculated when he didn't warn Lugh about the consequences of taking on the Map of the Heavens."

"Would Lugh have believed him anyway?" Sam asked. "You forget, I was there."

"Perhaps you're right," Zurvan said. "So, are you willing to take me up on my offer?"

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," Sam choked.

"It's complicated, I'll be honest with you," Zurvan said. "It has to do with how you got here in the first place. Castiel was killed by a being known as the Darkness. I had already been trying to convince him to travel back in time and make some changes. Castiel's death provided me with the leverage I needed."

"I remember him mentioning that, but he said you lied to him. He thought he was going back to kill some angel called Metatron. But you sent him all the way to when he crawled out of Hell."

"A miscalculation," Zurvan said smoothly. "I didn't think he'd want to relive your demon-blood addiction again. So I lied. And he failed, you still let Lucifer out of the Cage. So I took him back to his time, but although Castiel was alive, he was still unhappy. Apparently you were hosting Lucifer in that timeline."

"I was what!" Sam said, horrified.

Zurvan shrugged. "Time manipulation is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get."

"Who the fuck are you, Forrest Gump?" Crowley said in amusement.

"Dean begged me to send him back again. So I brought him back to where Lucifer had risen and you were unceremoniously dumped on that airplane." Zurvan sauntered over to Dean's bedside and trailed her fingers over his cheek, an affectionate look on her face. "He did so much better this time. I told him he needed to keep Gabriel alive at all costs, which he managed for a time."

Sam's vision began to dim, and he fell forward from the chair onto his knees. "H-h-he's dying now, isn't he?"

"Yes. We're out of time, Sam. Make your decision."

"I don't even know what I'm choosing," Sam said desperately.

The lights flickered and Zurvan hummed to herself, her eyes still locked on Sam. The building vibrated slightly, as though a large truck had gone by and if the demigod's eyes hadn't flared wide with alarm, Sam probably wouldn't have paid it any mind. A boom loud enough to make the windows rattle and set off alarms on some of the more sensitive pieces of equipment could be felt through the floor and Sam turned to Crowley for some kind of explanation. But the demon looked equally as confused and slightly worried.

"What is that?" Sam breathed.

The next sound was almost indescribable, as though it resonated at frequencies far below human hearing, but the building seemed to pulsate with it and Sam began to wonder if it was an earthquake. He'd experienced a tremor or two at Stanford, but it had never been anything like this. And then the lights went out. There was pandemonium. Some people had screamed when they were plunged into darkness. Sam could hear staff moving around and yelling for flashlights and wondering aloud why the emergency generator wasn't coming online.

Eventually, someone must have done something because weak red lights began to illuminate, bathing everything in a ghastly light. Time seemed to slow down, to the point that every movement, even blinking seemed to take an eternity.

"Oh, shit," Crowley said, and vanished. Zurvan had already made her escape it seemed and Sam was convinced now that something was coming. Something big, and powerful and angry. Fuck. That could only mean one thing. Michael was coming here, probably for Dean. Sam didn't have anything he could fight with. The hospital had a strict weapons policy and frankly they would have been little more than toys to a maddened archangel on the prowl.

He moved over to Dean and grabbed his hand, realizing that his brother had begun tossing and turning restlessly, muttering under his breath. Sam couldn't most of it, but to his shock the few words he could decipher were definitely Enochian. He had no idea what any of this meant, and he was terrified. But he would stand here with his brother, and if that meant he had to die alongside him, well that was little more than he'd ever expected. His soul ached for Gabriel, but other than send him one last message of love, there was little else he could do. He stood, head raised and Dean's hand in his, to face his fate.

* * *

Gabriel hung on a cross next to Lucifer, his Grace almost drained and his bond with Sam throbbing in pain. Balthazar was on his knees in front of Michael, pleading for his life and Gabriel wondered if Crowley knew what was happening to his beloved.

"Brother," Lucifer whispered. "This is not exactly how I planned things."

"Yeah, no shit," Gabriel managed with effort. He was so angry with Lucifer, he didn't want to speak to him. But he swallowed that rage in service to finding out how things had gone so catastrophically off the rails. "What the Hell went wrong, Luci?"

"Raphael got the drop on me when Michael and I were fighting," Lucifer rasped. He sounded exhausted and strangely sad, like part of him had already accepted he was dying. This was not the Lucifer Gabriel knew. "Stupid, I know. And arrogant. I thought I could contain his madness. I don't see how we fix this unless Dad's gonna pop up and save the day."

"Don't hold your breath," Gabriel said sourly. Lucifer gave a soft, wheezing laugh that grated on his nerves. "I don't think this is all that funny, Luci."

"Oh but it is," Lucifer contradicted. "You've finally come around to my point of view, now it's too late."

"I never said that," Gabriel denied. Lucifer made a dismissive sound. Gabriel resisted the urge to make his case and focused on the problem at hand. "We need to bring Raphael on board. You saw the look on his face, he doesn't approve of what Michael's doing."

"I doubt we can move him," Lucifer said. "But we're out of options." Unfortunately Lucifer wasn't wrong that there weren't many choices on the table. Raphael was always difficult to predict, despite his rigidity, he could make choices that only looked obvious in hindsight.

"Whispering against me?" Michael said, shoving Balthazar to the floor and whirling around, his eyes flashing. Gabriel bit his tongue.

"I was just asking Luci how he came to be here," Gabriel said.

Michael sauntered over and lifted Lucifer's head with his fingers under his chin. It was wrong, so wrong to see his brother moving that way. Easy and loose-limbed and with a strangely feral gracefulness, like a panther. "He underestimated me."

"Clearly," Gabriel agreed. A flash of irritation passed over Lucifer's face, but he said nothing. Gabriel tried to reach out to him, but either his Grace was too low or Lucifer's was. He'd just have to hope his brother could pick up on his cues. The old Lucifer, before the Fall, had been a master at that, but that was eons ago and this Lucifer was someone he barely knew anymore. "Michael, what's the endgame here?"

Michael pulled his hand away sharply, letting Lucifer's head drop in a careless fashion. He turned to look at Gabriel directly, one eyebrow raised in petulant irritation. "Endgame?"

"You've won," Gabriel told him. _I'm sorry, Luci._ "The Apocalypse might not have worked out the way the prophecies said, but Lucifer is beaten. So what now?"

"I intend to install Paradise on earth, of course," Michael said. He gestured around himself, a grandiose movement that really needed some kind of prop to be effective. Gabriel wasn't above theatrics, but this was silly. "Once I have disposed of my enemies here."

"What enemies?" Gabriel pressed, suppressing the desire to roll his eyes. Michael had subjugated all of Heaven, he had the ruler of Hell nailed to a fucking cross and he still wasn't satisfied. A stray memory flitted across a synapse, but when he reached for it, it was gone. He frowned in confusion. Angels didn't forget things. And then he recognized it for what it was, not one of his memories but one of Sam's. "If you want Lucifer dead, if you want me dead, we're at your mercy."

"Are you insane?" Lucifer hissed at him. Gabriel ignored him as the memory danced again and this time Gabriel was able to capture it. He watched the way Castiel had gifted the Map of the Heavens to Lugh, seen through Sam's eyes and understanding dawned. Lugh's curse, whether he understood it properly or not, was dissatisfaction. It had always been an aspect of his personality of course, but the Map had ruthlessly ripped out the joy he got from tricking people and forcing them to his will. That had been the price it had demanded. Which was why Gabriel would never mess around with something so powerful. He distrusted anything capable of overpowering him and with good reason. So now this sickness had infected Michael, who had already been flirting with paranoia and a persecution complex almost as large as Lucifer's and the result was utterly toxic.

His mind made up, he concentrated on reaching out with the last wisps of his Grace to Raphael. They had never been close, Raphael was too sycophantic and humorless to develop much of a familial bond with but surely Raph wouldn't actually stand by and let Michael kill him.

Michael cuffed Lucifer with the back of his hand. "Silence," he commanded. Lucifer glared at him, his eyes burning with hate. "Gabriel, you make a good point. Why not just eliminate you both?" He smiled that awful, cracked smile and reached out to grip Gabriel's throat. "I _could_ kill you, Gabriel. I'd take my time and I'd enjoy it."

"Michael!" Raphael's voice boomed from the door. Gabriel sagged with relief, his brother had heard him and had responded. Maybe he could end this madness.

Michael shoved Gabriel's face away and turned to face his brother. "What is it, Raphael?" he said peevishly. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Gabriel might not have been on our side but he's not your enemy," Raphael said, his deep voice deliberately pitched to be soothing. Gabriel could feel his wariness, like Michael was a rabid dog. It was uncomfortably close to the truth. "If you kill him, you're going down a road I cannot follow."

"Of course he's my enemy!" Michael screeched, waving his arms in the air. He dropped his blade with a clatter and marched over to Raphael, grabbing him and thrusting him backwards against the wall. "Are you turning against me too?"

"No, of course not," Raphael said, his eyes wide as he struggled to appease his crazed brother. "I'm just trying to stop you doing something you'll regret."

"You are!" Michael declared. "You're turning against me!" His blade appeared in his hand and Raphael's eyes flared in alarm. But he was fast adjusting to his new reality, his blade flashing upwards and blocking what surely would have been a killing blow. Michael howled in frustration, his madness making his movements slower and less coordinated than they should have been. Gabriel had watched his brother fight many times and could see the mistakes he was making now, overreaching here, a fumbled parry there. He'd never thought Raphael as good a fighter, but here he was clearly the master. But he didn't press his advantage, whether because he didn't want to truly beat Michael or because he wasn't quite as on top of the fight as he appeared, Gabriel wasn't sure.

"If you've got any last minute tricks up your sleeve, now would be a good time to whip it out," Lucifer said hoarsely. Michael's head whipped round like a striking snake, his eyes blazing with hate. With a quick movement, Michael darted forward and buried the blade into Lucifer's chest. It happened so fast nobody was prepared for it, the pain, the burning that echoed through their shared consciousness. Lucifer screamed for Sam in his anguish and Gabriel's vision darkened with distress as he felt his brother die.

One tear escaped to run down Gabriel's cheek as Lucifer's Grace flamed out. He gasped in horror and Raphael, who had lunged after Michael in a desperate, futile attempt to stop his brother, fell to his knees in distress.

"No," Raphael said desolately. "Michael, you shouldn't have…"

Gabriel wailed, grief momentarily overwhelming his own pain and weakness. The Host wailed with him as the reverberations of Lucifer's death spread through their collective consciousness. The light of Heaven seemed suddenly dimmer, and Raphael wondered for a moment if his own vision was to blame.

"Michael," he said again. Michael was staring at Lucifer in appalled confusion, the burned outline of his wings against the wall. He reached out and touched the scorch marks, his face disbelieving.

"He's dead," Michael breathed.

"Yes," Raphael said, standing up. "You just killed him. Michael, you killed our brother. Not in Stull, in the appointed place for the battle as foretold. But here, in Heaven. This was not supposed to happen here. The Canaanite Accords are very specific."

"So?" Michael said, Lugh's Irish brogue slipping into his voice. "What difference does that make? The Canaanite Accords are already broken."

A cold feeling slipped over Raphael at this. "Yes, but that's just the enforcement. The law stands. Lucifer was due a trial by combat, the meeting at Stull would have fulfilled this requirement. This execution-" Raphael had a strangely human urge to vomit. Or cry, he wasn't quite sure. "This execution does not."

"The Accords are broken," Michael said carelessly. He didn't even seem to care that he'd killed his most beloved brother. Or was it Lugh in there now? Raphael wasn't sure anymore. "Therefore the law is meaningless. And even if it were not, it's too late now."

He was pleased, Gabriel realized in horror and he began to laugh, a hollow, bitter sound that sent chills down his own spine and Michael's head whipped round like a striking snake.

"What's so funny?" he demanded. His eyes bulged with madness, and a strange, wicked glee.

"You are," Gabriel said, wondering if he was losing his own mind. It didn't matter, the die was cast. "Don't you know it? You've just signed your own death warrant."

"What?" Michael said before he freezing as he felt the tip of Raphael's blade against his throat. He rotated his head to look at his brother in shock. "Raphael?"

"Gabriel is correct," Raphael said sadly. "You have broken our laws, and in the absence of the proscribed punishment enshrined in the Canaanite Accords, I must act in its stead. You have committed a capital offence, Michael. I'm sorry, but the law is the law."

"No!" Michael said. "You can't!" Raphael's eyes glittered and then he shoved the blade upwards into Michael's head. He screamed, rage and fury and pain and fear, before dropping to the ground. Raphael let his blade drop the floor and he walked slowly to where Gabriel hung on his cross.

"So what now?" Gabriel said softly.

"I don't know," Raphael admitted. He waved a hand and Gabriel's bonds vanished, the archangel collapsing into his brother's arms. "You can't rule here either, Gabriel."

Gabriel's eyes rolled up in his head. "Who said I wanted to?"

* * *

When Gabriel came to, he was lying on the floor and Raphael was nowhere to be seen. He rolled over and winced in pain before laboriously hauling himself to his feet. Lucifer's body still hung on that hideous cross and it made him angry and sad all at once. His brother had been misguided once, and had let a mistake and foolish pride turn him into a monster. It didn't mean he deserved this fate.

And Michael… Gabriel staggered over to where Michael had fallen and gasped. There was no outline of wings, and now that he thought about it, he had not felt the burnout of his Grace as he had when Lucifer had died. Lugh was clearly dead, but it seemed Michael had extracted himself from his vessel at the last moment. He sighed, a rogue Michael roaming Heaven without a vessel would be dangerous but it was manageable. But where had Raphael gone?

All of Heaven began to rumble and shake, so violently that Gabriel was thrown to the floor once more. He could hear the panicked voices of the Host through the hive mind as a massive sound rocked the entire dimension like a seismic event on earth. Except, there was no such thing as a Heavenquake. Or at least, there hadn't been. Who knew what other damage Michael and Lugh had wrought.

Raphael chose that moment to reappear and his aspect was not comforting. He was haggard and his eyes were wide and he seemed almost shell-shocked.

"What's happening?" Gabriel demanded.

"I don't know," his brother said in a daze. "I don't know where this is coming from. Maybe Father's coming back and he's mad."

"Honestly, I think that's what we have to hope for," Gabriel said fervently. "This is such a mess, I don't see how we fix it without Dad's help."

"It's all right for you," Raphael said bitterly. "You can just wash your hands of this and say you weren't here and it's not your fault."

Gabriel began to laugh, aware that he sounded hysterical. "You think that'll get me off the hook. Do you even remember our Father? No, I'll be getting the ass-whupping of my life, believe me. But I'll take that and more if we can fix what Michael broke."

Raphael gave him a strange look. "Something's happening."

"I don't detect any- Wait, what the fuck is that?" A bell had begun to toll, somewhere deep in the depths of Heaven's foundations. It rang four times and then fell silent.

Raphael offered Gabriel his hand and helped him to his feet. "Of course, you've never heard that before, have you? Being the youngest."

"I don't understand," Gabriel said. "What are you talking about?"

Raphael didn't answer, he just gestured for Gabriel to follow him and strode out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

There was someone standing at the end of the hallway. Nobody was moving, everything and everyone seemed frozen in place. The dim red light meant Sam couldn't see any details, just that it looked like the dark shape of a man maybe 6 feet tall. He didn't move, he just stood there until Sam's eyes began to water just looking at him. A strange whooshing sound that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air made Sam weak at the knees and he leaned on Dean's bed for support as he saw that wings had appeared around the figure. They shouldn't have fit, there wasn't room for the incredible wingspan that arced outwards in the way that Sam knew only an archangel's wings did.

He realized he was no longer afraid and he wasn't sure if that was because he had accepted that he was going to die, or if his brain had simply short-circuited with the overload of sensory information. The red emergency lighting flickered and the figure began to move in a slow deliberate pace that seemed to match Sam's heartbeat. He watched almost dispassionately as the figure got closer and closer until something seemed to break inside of him and he was suddenly doused in terror, his nerves screaming at him to run, to hide, to get away from this thing that was going to kill him and take a thousand years to do it.

The figure was at the door and Sam let out an involuntary moan of fear but he stood his ground. Maybe he'd have liked that second chance Zurvan had offered. He certainly would have liked Dean to have some chance at happiness with Cas. But that wasn't the Winchester way, happy endings and a picket fence. Dean had once said that for hunters life often ended bloody. Sam embraced it and stared defiantly at the being on the threshold.

The hospital rumbled once more and then a voice said. "Hello, Sam."

That voice. Sam knew it, it was almost as familiar as Dean's or Bobby's or his father's. He staggered, confused and disbelieving and stared at the figure, desperate to make out some familiar detail. The hair, short and disheveled could be seen more clearly, as could the outline of a trenchcoat. It didn't seem possible, and yet there it was.

"Cas?" he said hesitantly.

"I seem to have caused something of a disruption," the angel said wryly. He sounded the same. But Sam's senses were still screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

"Are you… I mean, how are you… here?" Sam said lamely, his brain kicking against the impossibility before him.

"Our father is capable of great foresight," Cas said, which was next to useless as an explanation. "The Canaanite Accords were exceptionally well-crafted. Michael thought he had found a workaround but he was mistaken. The Accords are more robust than that."

"So they uh, brought you back?" Sam said, not really following what the angel was saying.

"In a sense," Cas agreed. "You might also say Father did it. From a distance of space and time."

Sam was thoroughly confused and wanted to ask more but Cas had moved closer now and he could see his face. It really was him, back in poor Jimmy Novak's body. Sam was surer now that this resurrection had not been simple. Cas's face was lined with strain, his eyes were wary and he seemed almost afraid. He looked down at Dean and his expression smoothed out. Affection lit his features almost from within and he brushed a hand across Dean's forehead. Dean groaned his name.

"Won't you wake him?" Sam said gently.

"I'd prefer not to. He should awaken in his own time," Cas said cryptically. "My return has… complicated matters."

"I don't understand, you know," Sam said. And a thought began to tickle at the back of his mind. "How come you blew out the power?" He looked around at the frozen people, dark and indistinct in the emergency lighting. "And… stopped time?"

"I'm stepping between moments," Cas said. "I allowed you both to slide through with me. It may be uncomfortable when we cross back into the timestream."

"OK," Sam said, bracing himself. "I didn't know you could do that."

"I never could before," the angel replied. He held out a hand to Sam, who stared down at it, perplexed. "Take my hand, Sam."

"Why?" he said. He didn't know why he was having all these trust issues but even though it looked like Cas and it sounded like Cas, something in his mind was insistent that this wasn't the seraph. That this was some kind of imposter. And then it hit him. The wings he'd seen the shadows of in the hall. He'd seen Cas's wings before, and whereas they were impressive in their own right, they didn't hold a candle to the sheer breathtaking awe of an archangel's wings.

"Who are you?" he demanded, terribly afraid he already knew the answer. "You're not Cas."

Cas gave him an apologetic look. "It's complicated."

"It really isn't," Sam said aggressively. "You're either Castiel or you're not. And if you're not, you need to get the hell away from my brother."

Cas sighed, and reached out for Dean again. Sam yelped in alarm but there was nothing he could do. Dean let out a long, slow breath and then went utterly still.

"What did you do?" Sam screamed, grabbing his brother and shaking him. "Did you kill him? What the fuck did you do to him?"

"Sam," a voice croaked. "Sam! Lemme go."

Sam looked down at Dean and almost dropped him in shock as he saw Dean's eyes were open. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. He just gaped at him, and Dean gave him a feeble smile. "Hey, Sammy."

He looked up at the Cas imposter and was taken aback by the fierceness of the angel's expression. "Are you Michael?" he asked shakily. "Is this some kind of fucked-up attempt to get Dean to say yes to you now?"

"I'm not Michael," the angel assured him. Dean struggled out of Sam's hold and turned slowly to look at Cas. Or whoever the Hell he was.

"Cas?" he said, cautious and strangely reverent. Sam didn't know what that meant.

"Hello, Dean," Cas said, smiling in that way he only did for Sam's brother and for no other being in Heaven, Hell or on earth.

"I…" Dean blinked and his face twisted with distress. "You were dead."

"I got better," Cas said laconically. The weirdness of that statement and the surreal nature of the whole scene threatened Sam's sanity for a moment.

"No, no, you're dead," Dean said. "This is another dream, you're not real."

Sam wanted to reassure him then, but he didn't know if this really was Cas. It might not be a dream but that didn't mean this angel claiming to be Cas was who he said he was. "Shouldn't he know if you're for real?" he said acidly.

"I told you," Cas said, his mouth compressing into a thin line. "It's complicated."

"You know what," Sam said. "I'm done. You say you're Cas but you refuse to prove it and you're throwing off all kinds of power, blacking out whole city blocks and generally terrifying the fuck out of everyone. If you're Cas, then knock it off and give me something to work with. _I saw your wings."_

"Ah. I was hoping you wouldn't notice," the thing wearing Cas's face said. Sam's throat began to ache for Dean, to have his hopes dashed like this.

"This is cruel," Sam said defiantly. "Tell us who you really are."

"Castiel," the Cas-thing said. "The Archangel."

Sam gasped and gripped Dean's hand tightly. Dean was breathing hard and Sam realized he was slipping into a panic attack. "Shit." He rotated Dean's head away from… Cas and focused his gaze on him. "Dean. It's Sam. You're freaking out. Just focus on my voice. Breathe. You're OK. We'll figure this out but you're OK."

He saw Cas move closer in his peripheral vision and he flung out a hand. "Stay back."

"Sam, I can help," Cas said patiently.

"You're not coming near my brother until I understand," Sam told him. He looked back at Dean who was weeping and shuddering in his arms.

"I can't make you understand something _I_ don't understand," Cas told him. "All I can tell you is, I've been-" he waved a hand searching for the right word. "Promoted."

"Is that even possible?" Sam said in disbelief.

"Only if the number of archangels falls below four," Cas said sadly. "Father stipulated that there should always be four, no more and no fewer."

Pain swept over Sam but he was sure Gabriel was not dead yet. "Who died?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Lucifer." Cas looked sorrowful and Sam was astonished by the grief that washed over him. Was it his or Gabriel's, he wondered. It seemed too intense to be his, he hated Lucifer and had no reason to grieve his passing.

"You were his vessel," Cas said. "What you're feeling is entirely natural."

"Did you just read my mind," Sam demanded, oddly outraged.

"I don't need to," Cas said mildly. "Your face is quite expressive."

Dean's breathing had slowed and Sam refocused on his brother. "Sam," Dean said softly. "What's happening?"

"I'm not sure," Sam admitted. He looked up at Cas angrily. "How come he doesn't recognize you as you through your bond? And if you dare say it's complicated again, so help me I'll kill you."

"You would be unsuccessful," Cas said, unruffled. "Our bond was damaged by my death and I have not returned… as I was. Until we can-" he coughed uncomfortably. "Fix the wounds in his soul and repair the bond, it's not going to be able to help him. But there isn't time. Things are happening in Heaven and I need to go and see what I can do to start reconstruction."

Sam gave up. If this wasn't Cas, they'd figure it out later. But he wasn't leaving Dean alone with him until he was sure. He nodded and then grimaced. "Are you planning to take us to Heaven with you?" He wanted that badly, needed to find Gabriel and make sure he was OK.

Cas nodded solemnly. "You need to be prepared, Sam. Heaven is… in bad shape right now."

"And Dean? He's been in a coma since-"

"I can heal any physical ailments now," Cas said. He moved towards Dean and reached out his hand. The longing on his face almost broke Sam's heart but he gritted his teeth. An expression of yearning was not proof. As soon as he touched Dean, Sam's brother jack-knifed and almost tumbled out of bed. And then he shoved Sam away from him and lunged at Cas, pulling him into a full-body hug and keening against his neck.

"Cas," Dean breathed.

* * *

Gabriel limped awkwardly after Raphael, who swept through the remains of Heaven like he could barely see it. His Grace was too low to heal himself right now, and Michael had not been gentle with him. But Raphael showed no sign of slowing down, even when he cast a glance over his shoulder to see what was holding Gabriel up.

Finally, they reached a part of Heaven Gabriel had not seen in a very long time. Father's study. When he'd left, Michael had sealed it and ordered the Host to stay away. Why had Raphael brought them here?

"Open it," Raphael said shortly.

"I can't," Gabriel retorted. "Michael sealed it, remember. I can't overcome his power."

"Try," Raphael said through gritted teeth. Gabriel threw him a puzzled look and decided to humor him. His brother had been through a lot. Perhaps indulging him was the best course of action for now.

He reached out and grasped the ivory handle and pressed it downwards, his eyebrows rocketing upwards in surprise as he heard the lock click and the door swung open. Baffled he turned to see a bitter smile on Raphael's face.

"Father trusted you more than any of us," he said. "Even after you'd abandoned us. He said you might need to get in here one day."

"OK," Gabriel said slowly, trying to digest this information. He looked around a room that reminded him vaguely of an old library in an English country house, all wingback leather armchairs, solid mahogany furniture and rows and rows of leather-bound books. A fire crackled incongruously in an ornate marble fireplace. "What's in here that we need?"

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at him. "The Word."

"What?"

"The Word. The spark that started it all. It's in here." Raphael gestured around the room.

"If you say so," Gabriel said doubtfully. Raphael was talking about the Word as if it were a physical object, not the manifestation of his Father's will.

Raphael sighed and entered the study, scanning the shelves before plucking one small volume from a shelf and handing it to Gabriel. The cover was navy blue leather and gold leaf printed on the front said _Sapah od Olapireta._ Sound and light. He frowned and opened it, blinking as a piece of parchment fell out and fluttered to the floor. He froze when he saw it was addressed to Michael.

"Has Michael read this?" he asked.

"Yes," Raphael told him. "All the archangels have. Except you."

Gabriel flicked an uncomfortable glance at his brother and then picked up the parchment and unfolded it. In his Father's familiar handwriting was a letter.

 _My dear Michael,_

 _I know recent events have been hard on you. Lucifer's Fall was as unexpected as it was predictable in hindsight. But I am committed to this course regardless. It means you will be left in charge of course, and in keeping with our discussions, you must rule as you see fit. But consider what I have said. Free will is a powerful thing._

 _I have come to the realization that my guiding hand restrains you as much as it protects you. And ultimately my interventions have proven to cause more problems than they solve. You will come to understand this._

 _But there are two things I would caution you not to do. Do not break the Canaanite Accords. That agreement to restrict the interference of angels and demons in human affairs was hard won and breaking that contract will have consequences I am sure you will not wish to face. In furtherance of this, I have tightened the enforcement enchantments. And stay away from time manipulation. You know what happened when Lucifer attempted to rewrite history - the scars inflicted on creation will never fade and we came perilously close to the unmaking of everything._

 _Finally, I have decided that the archangels were a mistake. This is not to say I am unhappy with you, my son. And your brothers Raphael and Gabriel are fine angels, and I am well pleased with them both. But Lucifer's tragic rebellion and Fall have shown me that you are just too overpowered. I seriously considered demoting you all to seraph and doing away with archangels altogether. But power given cannot be so easily withdrawn, and the consequences of doing so seemed more risky than leaving you as you are. So this is my final command to you, to Heaven. There are four archangels, and it should ever be thus. No more. And no fewer. I will make arrangements to ensure this._

 _Your loving father_

Gabriel quietly absorbed the contents of the letter before turning astonished eyes on Raphael. "He thinks we were a mistake?" he said hollowly.

"Indeed," Raphael said sternly. "Until today, it had not occurred to me that he might have had a point." He shook his head and sighed. "So now do you understand?"

"No," Gabriel admitted. "Why did you show this to me?"

"The bell you heard. It was the announcement bell for the creation of an archangel. I've only heard it twice before. For Lucifer and for you. It has stayed silent for these long millennia, as Father intended. But with our brother's death, it has tolled once more. A new archangel has risen."

Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip, a human gesture he'd picked up from Sam. "But it only tolled once," he objected.

"Quite," Raphael said loftily. "Which means…"

"Michael isn't dead," Gabriel interjected. "Fuck. I don't know if that's good or bad."

"No," Raphael agreed. "Neither do I. And this new archangel is not in Heaven. So where is he?"


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda Hart-Wellings always did what she was told. Ever since she could remember, she had been the good girl, the one who did her homework and came home before curfew. Not like her older sister Amanda, who'd already managed to drop out of high school, get pregnant and have an abortion all before the age of seventeen. Her parents had been horrified but seemingly powerless to prevent Amanda doing whatever the Hell she wanted to do. But Miranda was a different story. It had been made perfectly clear to her that such behavior would not be tolerated. Amanda was dead to the family, they hadn't spoken in three years and Miranda hadn't seen her sister since she'd been ordered out of the house by her father and told never to return.

So if her mother told her to meet with the slightly unnerving young priest in the reception room of the large antebellum plantation house that had been built by her great-uncle in the early nineteenth century, then she did so. She couldn't say exactly what it was that unnerved her so. He was slight, with light blond hair and pale gray eyes that were intent and perhaps slightly feverish with zeal. Not exactly unusual in young priests, she'd observed.

"Father?" she said, holding out her hand in greeting.

He smiled faintly, the effect more creepy than reassuring. "Miss Hart-Wellings, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Father O'Connor and I've been sent here to assist Father Durant with the more strenuous duties of the parish."

Miranda's brow furrowed in confusion. Father Durant was not a young man, but was no older than his early sixties, she was sure. He'd taken part in the local parish fun run just six months ago, setting a brisk pace on the 15K race she couldn't keep up with. "Is Father Durant sick?" she said with concern.

"Possibly," O'Connor said evasively and ducked his head when she narrowed her eyes at him. "I need your help, Miss Hart-Wellings. The organist has fallen and broken her hip and we need a replacement for tomorrow's Mass. I was told you play?"

"Yes," Miranda admitted. "Mrs Jellicoe was teaching me, and my repertoire is a little limited but I'm sure I could fill in for a while until she has recovered."

"Capital," the young priest exclaimed. "Would you come by the church this evening so we can select the hymns you are most comfortable playing?"

Miranda faltered, the ground beneath her feet seeming strangely unsteady. "I can list them for you now," she said. If she knew nothing else, she knew she did not want to be alone in a darkened church with this man.

"I'm sure," O'Connor said condescendingly. "But I would prefer to hear your playing before exposing it to the congregation."

Discomfort wormed inside her gut, slow and twisting. But what could she do? He was asking politely and no doubt her parents would approve. She nodded in acceptance.

"Then I'll see you at 6pm?" The intonation was questioning but there seemed to be a thread of menace in there too.

"That will be fine, Father."

* * *

"How long can we stay like this?" Lugh asked idly, looking around the church with a jaded eye. "I mean, possessing a statue of the Madonna? Blood running from her eyes? It's a bit cliché, isn't it?"

"Possibly," Michael said mildly. "But we're a little short on options right now. The priest will do as he is bid, and Miss Hart-Wellings is a suitable candidate. Her family are Raphael's line, which means even though she is not my true vessel, she should be capable of hosting an archangel without exploding."

"Not exploding would be my preference," Lugh admitted. "But what if she says no?"

"She won't," Michael asserted confidently. "Her parents have raised her to be a good and obedient young woman. She'll see this for the honor it is."

Lugh didn't reply, but his cynical silence spoke volumes. Michael bridled at the implied criticism but was forestalled from further utterances by the return of the priest they'd sent out to fetch the girl. He knelt before the statue and clasped his hands together, his eyes bright with religious fervor.

"Holy Mother, I have secured the agreement of the girl to come to the church this evening, as you requested. I am sure you will find her… pleasing."

Michael caused the statue to vibrate, which the priest interpreted as a sign that he had performed his task to her satisfaction. He began to pray and Michael tuned him out. Priests were so tiresome, even if they were a necessary evil to keep humanity in check. At least, that was the theory. But over time the influence and power of the Church had diminished, something Michael intended to rectify once he had a vessel once more.

"Really?" Lugh drawled. "A new Christian hegemony. You're insane."

"Our association is one of convenience," Michael retorted. "I can eject you if I so choose."

"Perhaps," Lugh said idly. "But right now you need me, and my power. Your Grace is still a pathetic trickle and from what I can tell, still tainted. Is there any way to cleanse it once and for all, and restore yourself? I'm happy to assist you and then be on my merry way."

"Possessing my true vessel should do it," Michael said. "We need to find Dean Winchester and force him to do as he is told."

"What about his bond with Castiel?" Lugh pressed. "I thought that rendered him unsuitable as a vessel."

"Not once the bond was broken with Castiel's death," Michael explained, sounding weary. "Must you ask so many questions?"

"I'd forgotten how intellectually incurious you angels were," Lugh complained. "My fate is still tied to yours, remember? I think I'm entitled to some answers."

Michael ignored him. He wasn't required to give Lugh any information he did not deem necessary, and he doubted the Irish deity would be too happy to learn exactly what would happen once he did separate their essences. But Michael was above the considerations of such inferior beings. He had work to do.

* * *

"Cas, I don't understand," Dean said again and the angel looked exasperated.

"Dean, I have to restore us to the flow of time. If we stay here, bad things will happen. I know you're hurting and the bond is making demands of you. But we cannot afford the time to fix it right now. You remember how it was when we formed the bond." Cas's cheeks colored and Sam winced.

"You already said that," Dean snapped. "I get it. What I don't get is why you don't want me to touch you."

Cas looked like he might burst into tears. "I never said that. You're not the only one who is hurting, Dean. Please just trust me."

Dean huffed out a breath and then nodded. "OK. Let's go then."

"I'll need to return us to the timestream first," Cas said. He brushed his fingers over Dean's cheek and Sam felt his eyes widen as Dean seemed to freeze in position. Cas nodded to himself and then came to stand in front of Sam. Again, Sam was struck by the fundamental wrongness of the angel. He didn't exactly disbelieve what Cas had told them but he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was not telling them everything.

Cas's eyes were a brilliant blue, focussed intently on Sam and strangely captivating. Sam's breathing stuttered as Cas stepped forward and brushed his hair away from his face with gentle fingers. The angel's pupils had enlarged and if Sam didn't know better, the gesture would have almost seemed flirtatious.

"What are you doing, Cas?" Sam asked, alarm sliding through his veins.

The angel looked confused suddenly, and stepped out of Sam's personal space. "I… don't know. I'm sorry." He touched the back of Sam's hand quickly and impersonally and Sam felt a strange lurching sensation before the world came rushing in, a flurry of sound and lights. His body rebelled and he dropped the floor and vomited.

Dean was sitting on the floor next to the bed, breathing heavily. "Well that sucked," he commented. Cas offered him a hand and hauled him to his feet before coming over to Sam.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not really." He laboriously pulled himself upright, ignoring Cas's proffered assistance. Sam could see two nurses were running down the hallway and he had no idea how to explain what was happening. "We'd better get out of here."

* * *

Gabriel tossed the letter onto the desk and opened the book again. "So this is the Word?" he asked, idly flicking through the pages. It was more like a journal of his Father's thoughts as he had created each thing. Some were short entries, describing the first light or the earliest plants and animals. Other entries were longer, including the ones on angels and humans.

"Yes," Raphael replied. "Father wrote down the precise words he spoke to create everything in this book."

"So, how does this help us now?" Gabriel asked, closing the book and staring at Raphael. He felt uncomfortably as though he were violating his Father's privacy, reading his private journal like this.

"Read the section on archangels," Raphael suggested.

Gabriel frowned at him and then opened the book once more and located the part where God had recorded the creation of Michael.

 _The lower tiers of angels have gone well but the most difficult task is ahead. The angels need leadership and I do not wish to be the only source. So I have created a new rank, archangel, to meet this need. The first-born I have named Michael and I am well pleased with him. He is obedient and follows orders well, although I have noticed occasionally he has a slightly strange interpretation of some of my commands. He also has a very literal mind. The next archangel should have more creativity and independence of thought to balance this out._

Gabriel looked up to meet Raphael's eyes. "He's talking about Lucifer."

"Indeed," Raphael agreed. "Keep going."

 _Lucifer is glorious, the most beautiful thing I have ever created. He brings tears to my eyes whenever I see him. Michael seems oddly disconcerted by his brother's arrival. When I first introduced them, he could not stop staring at Lucifer. Now, he goes out of his way to avoid him. I asked him if there was a problem and he assured me there was not. I do not like to think he is lying, he should be incapable of such an act. But something is definitely going on. I think another archangel will help balance things out. Lucifer is all I could ask for, but his personality is surprisingly strong and I think he needs a counterbalance. And Michael could perhaps do with an angel closer to his own way of thinking._

"That was you?" Gabriel asked. Raphael nodded unhappily, and made a gesture for Gabriel to continue.

 _Raphael is a delight. Capable and strong, but in a way that supports Michael rather than constantly opposing him. The arguments between Michael and Lucifer are getting worse and I am becoming concerned. Raphael is able to mediate some of these disagreements but Lucifer's sense of humor, an entirely unexpected if welcome development, is so alien to Michael that it is hard to get him to understand that his brother is not always serious in the things he says. I have decided to add one more archangel to the mix, one who complements Lucifer's humor and intelligence and will hopefully add the balance I have been seeking._

"It just finishes there," Gabriel complained.

"You know the rest of the story," Raphael told him. "You were born, Michael and Lucifer continued to fight but they would reconcile afterwards. But then you left, and the balance Father had sought was gone."

"I knew somehow this would be my fault," Gabriel said bitterly. Raphael gave him an odd look.

"I didn't say that," he said mildly. "The fault was Lucifer and Michael's. I simply meant that your leaving was the catalyst for everything that followed. That's not the point of why I wanted you to read this. Turn the page."

 _The archangel experiment was a failure. It is not my first failure, such is the nature of experiments; to find what works and what does not. But I had such high hopes, especially for Gabriel. He will not thank me for this, as I know he values his independence but he is the only one I can use to ensure Michael's compliance on this. Gabriel, if things turn out the way I expect, one day Raphael will show this to you. So know that I'm sorry for what I've done to you. But I had no choice. Rulership of Heaven was vested in Michael, rulership of Hell was vested in Lucifer. Raphael has dominion over the strategies of war. And in you I vest the rest of my power. Do with it as you see fit._

Gabriel gaped at Raphael, unable to process what he'd just read. "What does this mean?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," Raphael said dryly. "Our Father has placed you at the center of creation." He rolled his eyes. "Far be it for me to second guess him, as it would not have been my choice. Nevertheless, the power is there if you want it."

"You all knew this and kept it from me?" Gabriel was stunned by the enormity of it, and the sense of betrayal he felt that his brothers had kept this secret.

"It's not that simple," Raphael said, waving an admonishing finger in Gabriel's face. "You were gone, remember? We thought you were dead."

Gabriel's temper flared. "That's a lie. If I had been dead, I would have been replaced. Didn't the lack of another archangel to replace me give you a hint?"

"No," Raphael said tiredly. "You don't understand. Think for a moment. Think about everything that has happened. Dean Winchester has been flitting back and forth through time so much the very fabric of creation is beginning to wear."

Gabriel stared at him in horror. "I did die."

"At Lucifer's hands," Raphael agreed. "If the timeline had not been disrupted, you would have sacrificed your life for those damn vessels." He shook his head in exasperation. "That had consequences."

"What kind of consequences?" Gabriel asked suspiciously. Raphael was never this open with him. What was going on?

"I told you. All of Father's power, invested in you. Even if you didn't know, never touched it, the universe knew. And suddenly you were dead at Lucifer's hands and that should have been impossible. It was a paradox. A paradox that began to unravel the very bedrock of creation itself. So the universe tried to resolve it by tossing you into Purgatory."

"And Father knew?" Gabriel shrieked in outrage.

"Who knows?" Raphael shrugged. "He seemed to grieve your death, if that makes you feel any better."

Gabriel's head was spinning. So much had happened that had made no sense, but now the pieces were beginning to slot into place. Raphael regarded him solemnly.

"I know we've never been close," he said. "But Heaven's in trouble. Hell too. And that means your precious earth is threatened. War is coming, we cannot avoid that now. Many humans will die. Unless you act."

"What is it you want me to do?" Gabriel demanded.

Raphael gave him a sad smile. "Die."

* * *

Cas's warning about the state of Heaven had, with the angel's typical understatement, woefully failed to encapsulate how bad things really were. Dead angels littered the ground, any structures that had once stood were now ruins and there was a ghastly sense of desertion.

"Is anyone even left up here?" Sam whispered to Dean. He didn't know why, but the desolation made him feel like keeping his voice down.

Dean looked around with hooded eyes before shaking his head. "Hard to say, but it doesn't look like there were many survivors." He reached for Cas's hand and gripped it tightly. The angel looked down at their linked hands in surprise.

"Dean," he said, squeezing it tightly. "We must be careful. Michael is very dangerous now."

"When was he not dangerous?" Dean replied. "OK, where is he likely to be?"

"Near the main Hall, I would think," Cas said. He looked around as though trying to orient himself. "This way."

They hadn't traveled far when Cas stopped and turned to his right to kneel beside the body of an angel lying crookedly on the ground.

"Dina," Cas said, his voice soft and coaxing. The angel twitched and her eyes opened.

"Castiel?" she said in confusion.

"Yes," he said. He peered at her. "You've fallen?"

"Not exactly," she said huskily. "Michael required my Grace to replenish his own. I was… encouraged to donate."

Sam winced, he wouldn't put it past Michael to do something so vile but it was still shocking to hear it said out loud. "Is there anything we can do for her?" he asked.

"Not right now," Cas said cryptically. "Dina, we have to find Michael."

"He's probably in his office. Raphael too." Tears gathered in her eyes and she quivered. "He didn't lift a finger to help me."

"I know," Cas said sorrowfully. "I'm sorry."

She waved him off and he stood, his shoulders hunched with misery. Dean slid his arm around the angel's waist and squeezed him in reassurance. "We have to keep moving."

The walk through dead angels and broken masonry became more depressing the closer they got to the Hall. Sam peered up at the sky, which was leaden gray and heavy with ominous promise. He wondered vaguely if Heaven even had weather, but it was a bad sign nonetheless. He tugged experimentally at his bond with Gabriel and was surprised and delighted to feel an instant and enthusiastic response.

 _Sam! You're here?_

 _Yeah. Cas brought us._ Sam was so thrilled to hear Gabriel in his head once more, it took a moment to register how tired he sounded.

 _Castiel?_ Gabriel sounded confused. _I don't understand._

 _It's a long story. Something to do with the broken Accords. He's been resurrected. And… promoted._

 _Promoted, huh? Well that explains something. Where are you?_

 _On our way to the Assembly Hall. Looking for Michael._

 _Come find me and Raph instead. In the Library._

The sense of Gabriel's presence in his mind faded and Sam turned to Cas who was watching him pensively. "Gabriel and Raphael are in the Library, he says."

Cas nodded, as though this was obvious. "This way."

* * *

Miranda knocked timidly on the door to the church as she entered, although the heavy wood barely registered a sound. Pushing it open, she walked slowly towards the altar, looking left and right for the priest. But there was nobody here and the church was silent. Normally she would find that peaceful but for some reason she couldn't identify, she felt a creeping sense of menace.

The statue of the Madonna was her favorite in this church. The artist had been a genius, in Miranda's opinion. The Holy Mother's face seemed so lifelike, soft and gentle. So unlike the hard, cold face of her own mother. Tonight it seemed to almost glow with the last of the sun's rays streaming through the stained glass window behind her. Miranda dropped to her knees and uttered a short prayer.

 _Miranda, my child. I'm so glad you have come._

Miranda started, turning around to see who had spoken. But she was still completely alone, and there was no way anyone could have spoken into her ear without her seeing them.

 _Miranda. Come closer._

She was losing her mind. That had definitely sounded like it came from the statue. And in her head at the same time. She looked up at the statue and gasped when she saw tears streaming from her face.

"My Lady…" she breathed.

 _Yes, Miranda. You're special, did you know that?_

Miranda shook her head in disbelief.

 _It's true. And I have a task for you._

"Anything," Miranda promised.

 _I need an avatar, a vessel in which to work on Earth. You are that vessel. You alone can do this._

"What do I need to do?"

 _It's easy,_ the Holy Mother told her. _Just consent to being my vessel._

"Oh," Miranda said, tears springing to her eyes. "Oh, yes."

The statue was definitely glowing now. Yellow at first and then paler and paler until it was a brilliant white. Miranda cried out and then collapsed to the floor.

"Well," Lugh said. "That was easy."

"I told you," Michael said smugly. He rose, smoothing the skirts of Miranda's dress, and cast one final look around this small provincial church before turning on his heel and walking out the door.

* * *

 **A/N Thank you all to my loyal readers - this fic has been taking some hiatuses and I'm sorry about that. Next update will be in the New Year.**


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